


Bleed Me Dry

by rougewinter



Series: Pierce The Flesh [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bondage, Dubious Consent, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougewinter/pseuds/rougewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for this <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15638.html?thread=89549334#t89549334">prompt</a>. Lestrade is a vampire on a mission. Mycroft Holmes has his own agenda as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed Me Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [alphera](http://alphera.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [mushroom](http://mushroom18.livejournal.com/) too for holding my hand. 
> 
> I based the vampire mythology of this fic on True Blood episodes, although you don’t need to know much other than there’s a governing body called the [Vampire Authority](http://trueblood.wikia.com/wiki/Vampire_Authority) that makes sure vampires are kept in line, and that selling V (vampire blood) is illegal.

Lestrade took the steps leading to his Queen’s upscale townhome two at a time, nodding quickly at the guard by the door before slipping through the entrance in search for Her Majesty. 

When he entered the parlour, he was greeted by the sight of his Queen feeding from her human companion’s inner thigh. The red haired human, Kate, was spread out on the chaise lounge, and let out a wanton moan every time the Queen took a deep drink.

Irene raised a hand without looking at him to indicate she knew he was there and gave Kate’s pale thigh one final lick to seal the wound. Lestrade caught the messy mix of blood and saliva just before Kate’s negligee obscured it from view as she stood. Quickly looking away, he followed his Queen into her study. 

“Drink?” She offered, but Lestrade politely declined. She handed him a folder instead. 

“Andrew Thomson.” Queen Adler said as she propped herself up on the large wooden desk. 

“He’s the man responsible for drafting the ‘Pre-emptive Bite’ Bill, isn’t he?” Lestrade said from where he was seated, eyes on the file in his hands as he flipped through it.

“The Blood Defense Bill,” Irene said the proper title of the proposed law with disgust, “Where humans are given leave to kill a vampire simply on the pretense of feeling threatened. It makes the murder of our kind justifiable. If this is passed, they’d barely get a slap on the wrist for it. What a load of bull.”

Lestrade closed the folder and looked up at his Queen. “I don’t suppose you summoned me here just to vent.”

Irene merely raised an eyebrow at Lestrade’s sarcastic tone. It only served to enforce how serious the situation was when she didn’t even bother to banter with him like she usually would. 

“No, darling, I didn’t.” The way she enunciated the words told Lestrade that she wasn’t going to tolerate his attempts at humour today. 

“It goes without saying that this can’t be allowed to happen. If this passes, it’ll only be a matter of time before the other countries get it into their heads to implement something similar. I am sure you know how bad that would be for all of us. We,” And by ‘we’, Lestrade knew Irene was speaking on behalf of the Authority, “Are assigning you to the task. Do everything in your power, short of killing Thomson, to see that this Bill isn’t passed. 

“I believe I don’t have to impress upon you the importance of being discrete. If you get caught, we will disavow any knowledge of your intentions and claim that you were acting on your own.” Irene crossed one leg over another as she leaned forward, fixing him with a grave look, “Understand, Lestrade, that if this were to happen, we will have no choice but to give you the True Death.” 

Lestrade took a moment to digest the implications of undertaking this mission. Without a doubt, it was dangerous, and Lestrade hadn’t survived for four-odd centuries by jumping head first into the hazardous situations that came his way. He knew how delicate the circumstances were. The job couldn’t be left to just any vampire because this needed a certain sense of tact (which a gross number of their kind seemed to lack lately). And, in the likely event that things went pear-shaped, someone had to take the fall. Lestrade fit the requirements perfectly. He was experienced and damn good at his job, but he was also dispensable enough that his Queen would have no qualms about severing ties with him if it came to that.

He wasn’t so crass as to ask what the price for his success was. He was expected to do it because he was asked to and it was his duty. A refusal to take the request wasn’t even worth considering. 

Taking one final look at the file, committing the information to memory, Lestrade stood and threw the folder into the roaring fireplace, watching as the flames licked away the last traces of Thomson’s picture. 

“I will ensure that my affairs are in order.” He said softly as he passed his Queen on his way out. 

“Greg,” Lestrade paused with a hand on the door when he heard his name, unused to Irene’s gentle tone, especially when directed at him. He waited for her to continue, but when no words were forthcoming, he slipped out of the study.

It was only just before the door clicked shut behind him that he heard Irene’s faint whisper of ‘Good luck’. 

\----- 

Andrew Thomson shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited in the empty parking lot for the other party to arrive. He tried to stop his fingers from twitching by curling them into a fist, but that only served to make his hand shake. He bit into a knuckle to stop the trembling to no avail. He took a few shuddering breaths, checking his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes in the hopes of making time go faster. 

Just as he was at the end of his rope, a figure suddenly emerged soundlessly from the dark shadows to his right, causing him to gasp as he clutched his chest to ease his rapidly beating heart. 

“Y-you startled me.” He stuttered with a nervous chuckle, “I-I was worried you weren’t going to come.”

“Given how you weren’t able to stop the BD Bill from passing to the House of Lords last week, I seriously considered breaking our arrangement.” Thomson’s contact, a vampire with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, said with a glare. Thomson felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the pointed look. He knew how dangerous these creatures were, which was why he proposed the Bill in the first place. 

This vampire wasn’t the first to approach Thomson about the issue, but he was the first to find a weakness to successfully exploit. Thomson had always prided himself for his self-control (a trait he’d honed in himself in his quest to be a successful politician); that had been his downfall. He had made a bet with a buddy of his (which he later found out had been under the vampire’s glamour) that he would be able to take a few drops of the illegal substance – V – and not get addicted. Now here he was, three weeks later and practically begging for more. 

“I-I’m sorry. I tried to pull it but there’s only so much I can do. I need more ti-urk.” In the blink of an eye, Thomson found himself slammed hard against the side of a nearby car, held there by the monster’s hand to his throat. 

“I’m getting tired of your excuses.” Thomson flinched when the bloodsucker’s fangs extended inches from his face. He struggled to get the hand off his windpipe but the grip only tightened further. After a few more seconds, but what felt like an eternity to Thomson’s oxygen deprived brain, the vampire released him. 

Despite the dizziness and black stars marring his vision, Thomson watched the other being step back and pull out a small vial from his black leather jacket pocket. Over the sound of his harsh coughs and wheezes, the human heard the vampire speak again. 

“I’m not giving you another chance after this.” 

Thomson stared wildly at the glass container in the vampire’s hand, licking his lips at the sight of the tempting deep red liquid within. He would have killed his own grandmother if it was what got him more. The clawing hunger in him was enough to grant him the courage to grasp for the vial, only to have the undead man tug it slightly out of Thomson’s reach. With a final look of warning, the vampire handed it over.

Thomson was as startled as the vampire, although in considerably less pain, when a silver chainmail hood wrapped around the monster’s head. Thomson leaned against the car with his head down, unsuccessful in his attempts at keeping his dinner from reappearing at the stench of burning flesh and the sounds of piercing screams as the undead being was bound in more chains and carted away. 

The vampire’s howls were muted by a closed van door before the black vehicle drove off from the underground lot. Thomson managed to regain his bearings just as someone in fine dress shoes stopped just in his field of vision. The light tap of an umbrella tip against concrete floor made Thomson look up at a familiar face, and he took the napkin that was offered to him. He mumbled his thanks as he dabbed the sour remnants of bile from his lips. 

The other man politely cleared his throat and extended an open hand towards him, silently asking for the corked vial. Thomson reluctantly handed it over. 

“You did the right thing, Mr. Thomson.” The man said in a smooth, detached tone as he pocketed the small container. 

“My associate,” A girl with brown hair tapping away at her phone appeared by his side, “Will accompany you to the best rehabilitation centre in the country – known for their great facilities and staff, but more importantly, their discretion.” 

Thomson slid into the sleek black car when prompted, unable to stop the way his body shook from withdrawal. His anxiety must have been evident since he received a comforting pat on his shoulder from the other man. 

“I will take care of everything, Andrew. Don’t worry.” Thomson could only nod in acceptance. The man stepped back and closed the car door to separate them.

“Mycroft,” Thomson called once he rolled down the window, “I-I don’t know how I can ever thank you-.”

“Focus on getting better first, my good man.” Mycroft said and stepped away from the car, giving a curt nod to Thomson as the engine started and the car slowly pulled away. 

\-----

Lestrade came awake, not for the first time since his capture some nights ago, to the feeling of sharp pain between his eyes and cold numbness in his limbs. He was so drained, of both blood and energy, that even the ache in his belly and the raw soreness of his throat was secondary to the exhaustion that had burrowed deep in his bones. 

He mustered enough strength to slowly crack open an eye; only when he’d gotten used to the blinding brightness of the room did he open the other. He took in the clinical white walls of the room, only now noticing the gleaming metal instruments situated to his far right. The strategically placed silver restraints that held him down naked on the cold steel table barely allowed movement, effectively keeping him from thrashing about when the humans slid wooden barbs under his skin, corkscrewing them into his tender flesh before yanking them out with a viciousness he had forgotten humans could possess. 

They had not stopped with that. Next came the fire that danced over open wounds, there one moment and gone the next, but enough to make him burn as if touched by sunlight. They had also taken a silver scalpel and systematically began to make shallow cuts through sensitive parts of his body (behind his knees and elbows, the insides of his thighs, the crease of his pelvis, under his armpits), that if Lestrade were a lesser vampire, he was sure he’d have given all his secrets freely just to make them stop. 

The humans made sure he had little respite from their torture. They kept him awake hours past sunrise, letting him drift off for no longer than a few minutes before jarring him back to painful consciousness, not allowing him time to rest and heal the wounds they’ve inflicted. They fed him mere teaspoons of synthetic blood, just enough to keep him alive so that they could continue their ministrations without fear of losing him through blood loss. 

They had been thorough, but Lestrade had stayed strong. 

The sound of a door sliding open called his attention. Turning his head to look at his visitor as much as the bindings would allow, he immediately knew this man was different from his torturers. The umbrella held deftly in one hand confirmed his suspicions. 

Until now, Lestrade had only ever heard rumours about the latest heir to the ancient house of Holmes. Faced with the man’s tall stature, distinctive Holmes features and his unusual choice of accessory, there was no mistaking him to be anyone else. This man's forefathers have been Hunting long before even his Sire was Turned. Back then, they had been feared for their godlike intellect but not much else, as they could not hope to match a supernatural’s speed and strength. Now, armed with modern technology and warfare, it was a wonder that his kind were still around. 

They must have finally realised that he had nothing of use to offer them, Lestrade thought as he watched the man dressed in a dove grey three-piece suit walk an unhurried pace towards him. He closed his eyes, knowing that the only fate left for him, whether at the hands of the humans or his Queen, was the True Death. He licked his lips, parched, but finding an odd comfort in his acceptance of the circumstances. 

He had released his progeny, Donovan, from his control before he started his mission. Suicidal, she had called it; insane, she had called him, but in the end she had no choice except to see him leave. Lestrade only hoped that Sally would be spared from any stigma his failure would bring. 

By the time he had finished sending a silent apology to Donovan and his Queen, Holmes was standing by his side, looking down at his vulnerable form. 

“They weren’t very delicate with you, were they?” The man spoke, his nose wrinkled in disgust when he took in the mess of blood, burnt flesh and wood splinters scattered around Lestrade. “It’s no wonder you’ve been very tight-lipped this whole time.” 

“That’s because there’s nothing to tell.” Lestrade rasped out, his voice hoarse from his screams, “I was acting alone for the good of vampire-kind.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” Holmes said with a knowing smile, “In my experience, anyone else – vampire or otherwise – would have happily agreed to whatever accusation, even if false, given the amount of torture you’ve gone through. The fact that you have not given even an inch tells me that the statements you’ve given so far aren’t entirely true. The fact of the matter is, with enough persuasion, beings only defend their honor and silence if there _is_ something to defend. Those without the need to do so have no qualms about lying. You may be very strong willed, but all I need are the right methods. Why don’t you save us both time and tell me what I already suspect?” 

“Which is?” Lestrade said after a long moment.

“That you were instructed by a higher body of power to ensure that the issue of the Blood Defense Bill disappears.” 

“If that were the case, it would have been easier to just glamour or kill him.” Lestrade had discounted using glamour, even though it would have made Thomson easily susceptible to suggestion, because of the adverse long-term effects. The only option he had left was to get Thomson addicted to V, which also tarnished Thomson’s credibility. Had it been a simple glamour, the human could have easily said he was forced to do Lestrade’s bidding and regained political ground. 

“I wanted to make some money by selling my blood.” Lestrade continued, “The fact that he drafted the Bill was a side benefit. I figured I may as well help out my people if I was doing something illegal as a way to balance out my karma.” 

“Mm,” The man looked thoughtful, “That does sound plausible.” 

Lestrade narrowed his eyes, waiting for the ‘but’ in that statement. 

“Surely you know that the penalty for selling your blood is death. Why would you do so?”

“I didn’t think I’d get caught.” Lestrade twitched his shoulder in as close an approximation of a shrug as he could manage. “Are we done here?” 

\----- 

Mycroft looked at Lestrade in an effort to understand the vampire’s motivations. 

“You understand, of course, that if I let you go, you’ll be killed within minutes of stepping out of the compound. I’ve been told your Queen wants your head mounted on a spike.”

He was met with a level gaze, unable to determine what the vampire was thinking. “Maybe you should save them the trouble and kill me yourself. At least with you, I’m reasonably sure it’d be quick and painless.” 

“If I were to offer you protection-,”

“You can’t protect me.” Lestrade cut him off. “You said so yourself. The penalty for dealing V is death.”

“Is that why you chose to use that method?” Mycroft said with his forehead furrowed in thought. “To ensure that you would die when you got caught?” 

“Speculate all you want, Holmes. It is what it is.”

“You have nothing left to lose now. Why bother protecting whoever it is with your silence?” 

“Either kill me,” Mycroft felt the familiar tingling of glamour at the back of his head, ineffective due to the vampire’s lack of blood, but Mycroft appreciated the effort. “Or let me go.” 

“…ah.” Mycroft saw it now. It was loyalty. The vampire truly believed that he was helping his kind gain equal rights. It was to that cause Lestrade was fully loyal to, not to any higher order of vampires. 

_This certainly makes it more difficult,_ Mycroft thought, _getting an idealist to turn over names._

 _Of course,_ Another part of Mycroft chipped in, _It is possible that his enormous sense of loyalty to his kind prompted him to act entirely on his own._ But he quickly discarded that thought. The topic of the BD Bill should have seen a larger reaction from the vampire community; however, aside from some very pointed letters, the British Vampire League, who represented all vampires in the country, had been relatively quiet about the issue. Mycroft expected them to show their hand, so he kept a watchful eye on Thomson. When a vampire made contact, he immediately had his people do some research. 

His information was not as complete as he would have liked (getting accurate records of a vampire’s past was near impossible) but he had enough to know that if Queen Adler had sent someone, it would have been Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft had his suspicions, but he needed more evidence to proceed. 

Deciding that he had wasted enough time, Mycroft made his way back to the entrance and pressed the buzzer by the side of the door. He stepped aside when the group of men entered. 

\-----

Lestrade watched the men make their way towards him after Holmes gave them specific instructions. The vampire steeled himself for another session with the humans and their tools but was instead met with the strong spray of cold water when one of the men (Lestrade called him ‘Piglet’ because he squealed like one when Lestrade had taken a bite out of him when he came too close a few days ago) started to hose him down. Lestrade thanked whatever higher power there was that vampires did not need to breathe when Piglet turned the nozzle to his face rather vindictively. 

Not giving the vampire the opportunity to properly react, the men took a firm hold of him and moved him to another part of the room. Lestrade started struggling just before the men were finished repositioning him, unsuccessful in his attempts to tear one man’s throat out. In his weakened state, it only took a few moments to get Lestrade secured again, this time on a chair with straps that kept his legs raised and spread. His discomfort from being so exposed must have shown because Piglet was sporting an all-too-gleeful grin. 

Glaring through dripping strands of his hair, Lestrade saw a female assistant wheel a steel trolley towards Holmes. The human handed over his umbrella and suit jacket to her before she and the rest of the men left the room. Holmes brought the trolley over with him when he moved to stand between Lestrade’s thighs. Holmes gave him a once over, probably figuring out which areas to target best, and he tested the silver-infused leather bindings to see if they held. 

It was while Holmes was rolling up his crisp white sleeves that Lestrade noticed the contents of the metal trolley. His assumption that Holmes was taking over the task of mutilating him was thrown out the window. An array of dildos and vibrators of different colours, sizes and shapes littered the top tray along with a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. The bottom tray had anal beads, butt plugs, and a few others that he couldn’t name despite his experiences over the centuries.

The sound of rubber snapping jolted Lestrade’s attention back to the human. Holmes had donned latex gloves and was making sure they sat on his hands properly as he looked directly into Lestrade’s eyes.

“I don not wish to expend any more energy than I already have, Gregory, so I’m giving you one last chance.” Lestrade grit his teeth, realising that Holmes even knew his first name, but said nothing, hoping he had managed to convey the appropriate level of contempt in his glare. 

“Very well, if you really must insist on doing this the hard way,” 

Lestrade didn’t give the man the satisfaction of seeing him wince when Holmes slathered a generous amount of cold gel onto his flaccid penis; however, he wasn’t able to stop his body from jerking when Holmes took hold of his cock and balls. When he tried to wiggle away (because he’d be damned if he didn’t put up a fight), Holmes used a free hand to keep his hips still. Lestrade froze for a moment, thinking that Holmes had decided that inflicting bodily harm was still an option, but all Holmes did was move them out of the way to slip a cock ring on him. Lestrade felt the snugness of the black leather at the base when Holmes snapped the buttons together and pulled away to assess the fit. 

Seemingly satisfied, Holmes squeezed another dollop of lube onto the palm of his hand and reached for Lestrade’s limp cock. Lestrade would deny letting out a little whimper when Holmes grasped his shaft, but there was no mistaking the gasps and stuttering exhales he gave out when the hand slowly started to stroke him. Lestrade had to look away when closing his eyes only enhanced the sensations dancing over his sensitive skin. He kept his eyes fixed on the far wall, running mental exercises to keep him distracted from the situation. 

A palm against Lestrade’s inner thigh pressing him wider apart quickly brought his attention back to the smooth feel of a warm glove-encased hand sliding up and down his now hard member. Lestrade noticed that Holmes’ gaze was on his face, no doubt cataloguing all his reactions to every stimulus before Holmes’ grey-blue eyes drifted down, inviting Lestrade’s gaze to follow. The sight of his own cock, erect, flushed and held expertly, only made the heat in his stomach pool tighter. When the human’s thumb swiped over the tip of his cock, Lestrade did nothing to mask the moan that escaped, his eyelids fluttering shut on their own as pleasure coursed through every nerve in him. 

Holmes’ hand moved away to reposition Lestrade’s hips closer to the edge of the chair, making the restraints bite harder into the vampire’s skin when he slipped down. Holmes then reached for the bottle of lube once more and poured a line down Lestrade’s balls and down his opening. The human rubbed teasingly against Lestrade’s perineum, keeping the lube from flowing too quickly. Lestrade tried to get away from the fondling, shifting his hips to gain enough purchase to push away, but that only helped enhance the friction of the finger against his skin. 

Lestrade let out a vibrant litany of curses and knocked his head back against the cushioned chair in frustration. 

“Will you answer my questions honestly now?” Holmes asked him with a small smile, his finger driving Lestrade slowly insane when it descended over his puckered entrance and drew circular patterns over the tight ring. 

“Fuck no.” Lestrade spat out more vehemently than he intended.

Holmes broke out into a large grin before responding, “Good. I would have been sorely disappointed if you had given in so quickly.” He then slipped a digit into Lestrade without hesitation. 

The unwelcome finger, even with the gel easing the way, still burned as it went further inside him. Lestrade attempted to shift away, clenching and pressing against the digit to expel it but Holmes kept him still with a firm hold on his stomach. Holmes was patient, waiting for him to accept the intrusion before pushing the finger in deeper. Lestrade choked out a cry when Holmes coupled the digit rotating in him with a gentle press of a thumb against his perineum. 

Once the finger moved easily enough, Holmes withdrew the digit, grazing the tip against the entrance as he pulled away. Lestrade heard the sound of more lube being squeezed out of the bottle before he was invaded again, with two fingers this time. Lestrade was unable to do anything but clench his hands into fists as the pressure inside him increased, his enhanced senses magnifying every twist, curl, swipe and stab of the digits deep inside him. He was distantly aware of how his cock was bumping against his stomach with each shift of his hips, but only when Holmes resumed stroking it did he remember the pressing need for release. His pleasure rose to a peak when Holmes timed both assaults perfectly, causing him to clamp his arse tightly against the firm digits and his body to curve upwards in a futile effort to come. 

Lestrade fell back onto the seat with a shout of anguish, unable to do anything to alleviate the pressure still building in him. Over the squelching sounds of Holmes’ hands on him, he heard the man ask him once more about his affiliations. He had to bite his bottom lip until it bled to stop himself from answering. 

Holmes retracted his fingers only when Lestrade’s legs were pushed apart as wide as they could go. He was not left clenching around air for long as Holmes proceeded to slip a slim vibrator into him. The cold metal was a shocking contrast to the warm digits it replaced but Lestrade hadn’t even had the time to catalogue the foreign sensation when Holmes turned the sex toy on. Even over his moans, Lestrade could hear the soft buzz of the vibrator as Holmes expertly gyrated it with each thrust. The sweet torture of Holmes’ hand fondling his cock resumed as well. 

Lestrade let out a surprised yelp when the object inside him finally touched his prostate. Holmes kept the gadget pressed against his sensitive bundle of nerves, releasing it only for a few moments, before resuming the constant assault to his prostate. It drove Lestrade wild, his entire body quivering with the intense desire to ejaculate.

Only when Holmes smugly said, ‘Well, since you beg so prettily, Gregory.’ did Lestrade realise he had been babbling, whining and pleading to come. 

Holmes undid the leather strap with a deft flick of his wrist and in mere seconds, Lestrade was arching off the chair, riding the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced to date. 

He laid there limply, panting in his exhaustion with his legs still spread wide, when he vaguely registered Holmes slowly pulling the still buzzing vibrator out of him then switching it off before placing it back on the tray. He had to shut his eyes when white stars dotted his vision, unable to take the barrage of sensations to his oversensitive faculties. 

Lestrade opened them once more when he felt something brush against his closed eyelid. He was met with the sight of Holmes’ thumb smudged in red, and felt a spot on his cheek cooling with the mixture of lube, his come and his tears. 

“You held out for far longer than I expected.” Holmes said as he peeled the dirty gloves away and laid them down on top of the trolley. “It’s no wonder Queen Adler chose you to deal with the matter.” 

Lestrade cringed at the mention of his Queen. “If you had known all along, what did you need me for?” 

“Well,” Holmes paused as he started to roll his sleeves down and buttoned them back up. “I didn’t know for certain until you confirmed it just now.” 

Lestrade’s eyes widened as he belatedly realised what he’d said. Holmes had whittled down his defences enough to catch him at a moment of weakness, and it was enough to throw days of stubborn resistance out the window. 

The different consequences ran through Lestrade’s mind. He had been prepared to meet the True Death hours before with the knowledge that he had done his duty by not implicating his Queen despite being unable to sway the BD Bill. Now, watching as Holmes straightened his waistcoat and tie, Lestrade felt the weight of failure far more frightening than meeting his end. 

“Don’t look so put out, Gregory.” He heard Holmes say, effectively pulling his attention away from his depressing thoughts. 

“I have absolutely no interest in seeing the Blood Defense Bill passed, but Thomson had amassed a large number of supporters for his cause that I needed a good reason to stop the Bill from passing. Now that I have him firmly in my pocket, there is no longer any need to do so. I really must thank you for handing him to me on a silver platter.” Lestrade felt the back of Holmes’ hand brush lightly up his flank, brushing past the remaining droplets of water from his impromptu shower, as the human moved to stand by his side. The smooth warmth of the man’s hand was a stark contrast to the cold detachment of the sterile gloves he’d previously worn. The hand went to rest on the space by Lestrade’s other side, effectively bracketing him between an arm and Holmes’ waist. 

“I needed to know for certain that Irene had sent you before I approached her with a proposition and my intentions of keeping the status quo.” Holmes continued, the other hand that wasn’t supporting his weight moving to cup Lestrade’s cheek. Lestrade clenched his jaw, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in his belly at the human’s tender affection.

“So I believe she’d be more inclined to forgive you for the fact that you got caught.” Holmes said, his thumb tracing idly over Lestrade’s chin and bloodied bottom lip. 

“That still doesn’t change the fact that I’d be put to death anyway for selling V.” Lestrade croaked out, wincing at the way his throat ached when he talked. Holmes’ hand crept down to Lestrade’s neck, grazing over his throat as if trying to soothe the hurt away. Lestrade couldn’t understand why Holmes was being gentle with him now that he had outlived his usefulness. 

“That is assuming that Irene is aware you had been dealing.” Holmes’ hand squeezed his neck lightly, but it was enough to make Lestrade’s eyes flutter and a groan to escape without his consent. Lestrade saw the corner of Holmes’ lips quirk upwards and it was nearly enough to derail his thoughts once again. 

“You won’t tell her?” Lestrade asked. He felt a thumb pushed temptingly over his larynx when he swallowed, sending a minute shiver through him at the thought of Holmes surrounding him so completely. 

“Of course not,” Holmes said with a chuckle, “There will be no benefit in revealing that to her.” 

The human’s thumb shifted back to dance over Lestrade’s chewed bottom lip, making the area sting when Holmes pressed hard enough. Lestrade, in an act of defiance, opened his mouth and sank one of his fangs into the soft pad of Holmes’ thumb, letting the blood well up before he licked the small drops away. Holmes seemed to have expected as much because he only grinned wider and angled his thumb to allow Lestrade to drink more easily. Lestrade didn’t bother masking his moan at the taste of sweet, fresh blood hitting his tongue for the first time in days.

“Enough of that.” Holmes said after a few more moments and patted Lestrade’s cheek with the other hand to get the vampire to release him. Lestrade sucked on the digit one last time, licking tenderly at the spot to stem the blood flow, before reluctantly pulling away. He looked up at Holmes, no longer caring if his arousal was written clearly on his face. 

“I think,” Holmes whispered with a smirk when he leaned over Lestrade as if imparting a secret, “That I would very much like to keep you.” 

Lestrade was not entirely sure if the shiver he felt running down his spine was of fear or anticipation.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to be sobbing in my little corner of shame now. I’m going to hell for writing this, I just know it.
> 
> Sequel: [StockHolmes Syndrome](http://archiveofourown.org/works/408839)


End file.
